 ENCOUNTERS WITH THE FAMOUS This week it's somebody who seems to grow more famous hourly. I used to represent Stephen Fry for voiceovers. I called him umpteen times a day, telling him which studio to go to, who to ask for, and which products his National Treasure tones would be flogging. Unfailingly polite and funny, Stephen was one of my favourite clients, despite the fact that we'd never met. One evening I went to see him and Hugh Laurie (another client) record a programme at the Beeb. 'Meet us in the bar afterwards!' said Stephen. A little overexcited (these men were comedy gods, after all) I introduced myself. 'Darling!' roared Stephen, 'I had no idea you'd be so ugly!' STOP IT, LADIES I mean you, Kylie, Dannii*, Nicole, Lulu et al. Please stop saying that you 'tried' Botox but 'didn't like it'. That's like me saying that I tried cake but didn't like it i.e. the physical evidence disproves it. * And spell your name properly. IRISHISMS “For every old sock there's an old shoe”. A typically bracing Irish response to the late night gripes of your best friend, the wrong side of a winebox, when she moans that she'll never find anybody, she's too old, she's too 'set in her ways', she's too picky, she's not picky enough, she's too tall, she's too fat, she's too clever, she's too yada yada yada. 'Don't worry,' you can say, patting her hand and hoping she's not going to be sick, 'for every old sock there's an old shoe.' Or, to loosely translate, there's a match out there for everybody. Comforting, if you can get over being referred to as 'an old sock.'  THE WORLD ACCORDING TO MAVIS This week, surveying the world from her unfeasibly large rattan dog bed, our frog-eyed correspondent received a gift that puzzled her. Mavis surveyed the proffered pig's ear much as Queen Victoria might survey a Pop Tart: she's aware that the proletariat eat such things, but she has no idea how to approach it. Eventually, hunger overcame her girlish timidity, and she gnawed and sucked her way through the ear, smacking her lips and pausing only for the occasional burp.  CURRENT CRUSHES A good friend tells me that she is living from “Zen to Zen”. In other words, that chunk of the week between episodes of BBC1's 'Zen' on Sunday evenings is meaningless, as it contains little or no Rufus Sewell. Another friend is still recovering from sudden exposure to Ed Stoppard in an Edwardian dinner jacket in Upstairs Downstairs over Christmas. So, from my small and unscientific survey, it would appear that men in suits are in vogue again. THINGS NOT TO SAY TO AN AUTHOR WHEN YOU MEET ONE (1) It must be lovely to make a living from your hobby. 2 Comments | About Me
 I am Bernadette Strachan, but please call me Bernie or I’ll assume you’re telling me off. I am an author of romantic fiction, with added funny bits. Six books are already out there in the world (WHY DO WE HAVE TO LIVE WITH MEN? came out in October 2010) and number seven is coming to life under my fingers at the moment.
I live in Kingston, Surrey with my husband, my daughter and our dog. The husband is Matthew, a composer. The daughter is Niamh, she’s six years old. The dog is a spaniel called Mavis. She is quite thick. As Niamh might put it, I superduper love them all. I’m mad about books, and consider it a privilege to be paid to write. I love to cook, I overeat, I feed gangs of people as often as I can. I’ll be your friend forever if you offer me Pavlova but I may avoid you if you insist on giving me fish. Just can’t be doing with fish. I can’t bear txtspk, I love bad television, I think Johnny Depp should be available on the national health. I’m rather shy, although I can be horrendously extrovert when the spirit moves me, I do yoga once a week, I have a stationery fetish, I love it when Niamh puts on shows for me in the kitchen. Err, that’s all really. ArchivesOctober 2011 CategoriesAll |
